


Kinky Boots

by FreyaOdin



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, High Heels, M/M, Scomiche
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 18:17:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8543971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin/pseuds/FreyaOdin
Summary: What happens when your fave boys post photos of themselves in thigh-high heeled red boots...





	

 

[If you can't see the photo, click here...](http://65.media.tumblr.com/dedc0234a46924e92cd478336ecce804/tumblr_ogiighY40O1r6bzjpo1_500.jpg)

 

There are too many people around.

That wasn’t true a couple of minutes ago. A couple minutes ago Scott was happily goofing around with a bunch of his closest friends, congratulating Todrick on slaying the scene even harder than Scott knew he would.

A couple of minutes ago they’d been joking and grinning and trying to find boots big enough for his giant feet. He’d been laughing at Jeremy practically drooling over the thought of seeing Kirstie in a pair of thigh-high red boots and giggling as some assistants helped him into his own pair. He spent one of the remaining minutes snapping a few sexy steps in the things, hurriedly typing LIVING because fuck yes, these are amazing.

A couple of minutes ago, Scott was fine with the crowds and the noise and the goofy fun.

And then some people stepped out of his line of sight and there was Mitch in his own pair of thigh-high sexy red boots.

Thigh. High. Sexy. Red. Boots.

On Mitch.

It’s probably a good thing there’s so much sound around because the noise he makes at the sight—somewhere between a growl and a whimper? He has no idea how to describe it—would probably be embarrassing if anyone else heard it. Kinda like how his immediate and painfully hard erection would be embarrassing if he wasn’t wearing a big grey hoodie.

He has to pause and just blink a couple of times to make sure there’s still enough blood in his brain to stay standing. He wets his bottom lip and then bites it for good measure because _holy fuck_.

Mitch doesn’t notice him staring at first. He’s preening for a camera, serving like the queen he is. He turns this way and that, tilting his head down and to the side and smirking that dirty little smirk of his that always makes Scott want to do unspeakable things to him.

Scott’s beginning to wonder where all the air in the room went. Is he still breathing? He should probably check if he’s still breathing. He knows his heart is beating because he can hear his pulse whooshing loudly through his eardrums.

Eventually the camera moves on to someone else and Mitch turns and makes eye contact. His smirk widens, probably at how obvious it is that Scott’s three seconds away from spontaneously combusting, but then his eyes are rapidly dilating. His gaze is travelling up and down between Scott’s feet and thighs and ass and suddenly he’s licking his lips too.

Apparently Scott’s boots do a little something for him as well.

He’s not sure how they make it through the next few minutes. There are still too many people around and then Toddy comes over and they’re posing for a photo with him and Kirstie and Scott’s trying desperately to look like he’s having cute, slightly risqué fun with his oldest friends and not like it’s taking everything he has not to pick Mitch up and fuck him into the closest wall with those boots wrapped around his waist.

He vaguely remembers giving Nicole his phone to take a picture for Superfruit and he thinks she gives it back to him afterward, but honestly he’s not really focusing well.

And then the photos are over and the assistants are coming back to reclaim the boots and Scott doesn’t know whether to be relieved because he can’t tolerate Mitch in the things for much longer without doing something about it or sad because when is he going to get to see Mitch in the things ever again?

But then Mitch’s hand is clenched around Scott’s forearm and he’s looking wild-eyed and off and maybe a little sick? 

Scott’s lust instantly turns to concern. “Are you okay?”

Mitch puts his other hand to his stomach. “I’m not sure.” He looks over at the closest assistant. “Hey, I think I may have eaten something I shouldn’t have. Is there a bathroom nearby?”

“Sure,” the woman says, starting to kneel beside him. “Just down the hall to the right. Let me just get your boots off and—“

“God,” Mitch says, swallowing heavily. “I’m pretty sure I’m about to be sick. Now? Please?”

The woman blinks up at him, confused, but then snaps out of it. “Of course.”

Mitch starts to move and Scott’s staring after him, worried. He was fine a second ago, what the hell did he eat that came on that fast?

But Mitch hasn’t let go of his arm and is tugging him along. “Can you help me, Scott?”

What the hell? Scott’s fine with making sure Mitch is okay, would prefer it even, but the last time Mitch was throwing up he poked his head into the bathroom to see if Mitch needed anything and got a “get the fuck out and let me die in peace” for his trouble. Mitch likes company (and obedient fawning servants catering to his every whim) when he’s got a cold but for stomach issues he likes to be left alone so why is he now demanding— oh.

Oh, _hell yes_.

Mitch sets off at a fast pace, looking for all the world like he’s trying to race his stomach to a toilet before he spews everywhere. Scott’s hard-pressed to keep up with him without killing himself. He’s probably not looking all that graceful, but at least he’s not breaking an ankle.

Mitch bypasses the men’s room and heads directly for a smaller, single all-gender bathroom. He flips the light on and turns the lock and then suddenly his hands are all over Scott’s ass and his hard cock is pressing into Scott’s thigh and he’s moaning “Jesus fucking Christ, _look_ at you” into Scott’s neck.

Scott’s boots are apparently doing _more_ than a little something for him.

That’s it. Scott spins them around and, after a quick check to make sure nothing is obviously disgusting in here, presses Mitch into the wall.

“Fuck, yes.” Mitch pants, and Scott has no choice but to pull one of Mitch’s legs up over his hip, palm on the leather of the boot, fingers clenching into his fantastic thigh. His other hand goes to Mitch’s jaw, fingers spreading across his cheek as he tilts Mitch’s face up so he can crush their lips together.

Mitch wraps his arms around Scott’s neck but otherwise goes pliant. Their height difference is even more accentuated than normal, Scott’s longer feet allowing for a higher heel. He’s having to bend his knees to take some strain off his neck, but that just gives him more leverage to rock his hips into Mitch as he sucks his tongue into his mouth. Mitch is whining into the kiss, soft grunts spilling out with every press of Scott’s thigh into his cock and Scott swallows every one, breathing harshly through his nose because he can’t make himself break the kiss for even a second.

Some semblance of sanity eventually returns as Scott realizes how fast he’s getting close and how far gone Mitch already is. They’re both in danger of coming in their pants and as hot as that would be, it’s not the best idea given how many people are just outside the door. Scott regretfully pulls his mouth away from Mitch’s, dipping back in for one more forceful taste when Mitch whimpers his dismay, but quickly clawing enough self-control together to break it off again.

He glances around the bathroom for ideas on how to proceed. He’d love to fuck Mitch; tear off his skinny black jeans, hoist both boot-covered thighs around his waist, and just pound him through the wall. However, given their current lack of condoms, that’s almost as bad an idea for leaving them a mess as letting them both come in their pants. And, sadly, he doesn’t have any lube anyway.

He glances over at the sink, which is set into a small but sturdy looking counter with a flat, wall-mounted mirror above it that goes all the way to the ceiling.

Yeah. Yeah, that’ll do.

Scott thrusts his hips into Mitch one more time before regretfully pulling away. Mitch’s pupils are blown and his cheeks are flushed, a delicious light sheen coating his face. His head is tilted back to rest against the wall and he’s biting his lip and breathing harshly and just fucking waiting to see what Scott’s going to do.

There are many, many things Scott would like to do. Also, Scott really needs to start carrying condoms and lube around everywhere they go, regardless of how unlikely surprise sex seems like it would be that particular day.

With that thought in mind he finally releases Mitch’s thigh, steadies him on his feet and then spins him around so they’re both facing the mirror.

Huh. Scott’s pupils are pretty blown too. That probably shouldn’t surprise him.

He bends his neck to bite at the back of Mitch’s, smoothing his hands from Mitch’s hips up and across his torso, pulling him back so he’s half leaning against him. Another glance into the mirror has Scott spreading his legs somewhat, both so he’s at a better level for mouthing along Mitch’s jaw, and so his own boots are more visible, a fact that Mitch clearly appreciates if the hand reaching back to smooth up his thigh and grab his ass is anything to go by.

He slowly runs his hands all over Mitch, reveling in the moans and sighs the action elicits, before tightening one arm across his chest to immobilize him and reaching down to undo his belt with the other.

“Fuck, please,” Mitch whimpers as Scott pulls his cock out, fat and hard and leaking into his palm. The hand on Scott’s ass clenches spasmodically and Mitch’s other flutters in the air, aimlessly drifting up and into Scott’s hair for a moment before settling to grasp the forearm pinning him to Scott’s chest. “Please.”

“You want to beg, Melissa?” Scott whispers in his ear, as if he doesn’t know the answer. “Beg me for it. What do you need?”

“Need to get off. Fuck, need to come, Scotty. Please.” His head is thrown back onto Scott’s shoulder, chest heaving, though his eyes haven’t left the sight of Scott’s hand on his cock in the mirror.

The sight of Scott’s hand on Mitch’s cock in the mirror just above and bracketed by two pairs of those motherfucking _boots_.

Shit. Scott might have felt like he would spontaneously combust before, but he was sadly, sadly premature in that assessment.

“You need to be quiet, Mitchy. Can you be quiet for me? Can’t let anyone know what we’re doing in here, baby.”

Mitch jerks his head into some semblance of a nod and Scott takes pity on him. He starts slowly, gathering precome into his palm and smoothing it up and down his shaft before settling into a harsher pace. Mitch’s hand tightens around his forearm and he bites his lip, the tendons in his neck straining as he tries to control himself. The effort isn’t quite sufficient to smother the sounds and half-formed pleas leaving his lips, but Scott’s pretty sure they’re not loud enough to travel through the door.

He’s quickly ceasing to care about anything except the feel of Mitch hot and hard in his hand and his own erection pressed painfully into the small of Mitch’s back.

However, they’re probably running short on time before someone comes looking to make sure they’re okay, so he tightens and speeds up his hand. Mitch’s fingers clench harder, nails digging into Scott’s forearm and the back of his thigh. It should probably hurt but honestly it’s just accentuating the hotness of this whole scenario right now.

Mitch starts to lose control over his voice. A particularly loud groan has Scott letting go of his cock—only for a moment, although the dismayed whine Mitch lets out makes Scott wish they had a lot more time in here so he could deny him a few more times just to keep hearing it—long enough to reach up and force Mitch’s jaw around so Scott can swallow his moans in a heated kiss.

It only takes another minute after that before Mitch is almost screaming into Scott’s mouth, back arching as he comes hot and hard onto the counter and sink in front of them. Scott strokes him through it, barely maintaining enough control not to come in his pants along with him after all.

He breaks the kiss to let Mitch breathe, staring at him as he recovers. He’s wide-eyed and spaced out and fucking beautiful as he pants, trying to catch his breath. Finally they make eye contact in the mirror and Mitch’s mouth widens into a self-satisfied smirk. His stance changes, a slight cant of his hips taking him from seduced to seductress in the blink of an eye. He lets go of Scott’s forearm and reaches down, pulling Scott’s hand from his cock up to his lips and then licking his own come off Scott’s fingers like he’s sucking on a melting popsicle on a hot Texan summer day.

_Jesus fucking Christ._ A deep groan leaves Scott’s throat and he’s suddenly even less concerned about someone overhearing them than he was before.

Mitch finishes his treat and then straightens so he’s no longer leaning, tucking himself back in and doing up his jeans. He’s got a calculating expression on his face as his gaze flickers all around the room.

Suddenly he’s pulling away from Scott—which just no, what the hell?—and sitting on the toilet. But then he’s reaching over and tugging Scott towards him by the belt and okay yes, Scott approves, this is just fine yes indeed great idea.

Scott’s not sure how Mitch goes from tugging his belt open to sucking him down in what seems to be less than a millisecond, but he is most definitely not complaining because Mitch’s mouth is hot and wet and the suction is fantastic and Scott’s thighs are spread on either side of Mitch’s lap and Mitch’s hands are running up and down his legs and squeezing his ass and encouraging his light thrusts and Mitch is looking up at him with those brown doe eyes and his lips are stretched around Scott’s cock and he tilts his head into the palm of Scott’s hand when he can’t resist touching him and Jesus Scott has to brace himself on the wall with his other arm to avoid falling on his ass over the whole thing.

He tries to retain some control; as much as he’d like to just fuck Mitch’s mouth, he’s well aware that Mitch’s gag reflex is sensitive and making him actually vomit instead of just pretend he needs to would in fact be the definition of anti-hot. So he’s trying to be careful about it but God, this feels amazing and it’s so hard. _He’s_ so hard.

Mitch seems to sense his problem because one of his hands releases Scott’s ass and instead braces his hip, preventing him from thrusting too deep but still allowing his hips to rock as he needs to. It’s perfect and between the feel of Mitch’s remaining hand coming up to play with his balls through his pants and the suction and heat and wet, Scott’s ready to come in an instant.

He lightly taps Mitch’s cheek with his thumb in warning, but Mitch just hums— _fuck, yes_ —and doubles his suction efforts and Scott is done for. He comes hard, spilling down Mitch’s throat and groaning deep from his own and trying to keep his balance with knees that no longer work and legs that feel like jelly and heels that are higher than anything he’s remotely had on before.

Mitch swallows everything he’s given, lapping at the head of Scott’s cock to get the last of it, all the while never breaking eye contact. Scott moans at the sight and wonders how quickly he can get it up again because fuck that blow job deserves a really, really nice reward.

He’s still bracing against the wall to remain upright and breathing harshly to recover as Mitch gently tucks him back into his jeans and refastens his belt. Mitch lowers his gaze as he strokes his hands up and down Scott’s legs one more time in these boots before looking back up, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Wow, I feel sooo much better. It’s a miracle!”

Scott has to laugh, because of-fucking-course. He takes a deep breath and then steps back, offering a hand to Mitch so he doesn’t kill himself trying to stand up in these things.

They take a few minutes to clean up the sink and wash their hands and try to fix Scott’s hair into something that doesn’t look quite so much like they were just having sex in a public bathroom. A few deep breaths later and they’re opening the door.

No one’s standing immediately outside, thank God, but the assistant that directed them to the bathroom has clearly been waiting for them to come back and Scott catches Todrick watching them from where he’s still mingling with people congratulating him.

Mitch makes a show of putting a hand over his stomach and taking a few steadying breaths like he’s making sure he won’t throw up between here and their ride home. The assistant smiles sympathetically and ushers them over towards some chairs where they can more easily remove the boots. Toddy, on the other hand, glances back and forth between them before rolling his eyes and giving Scott an “are you fucking kidding me right now?” pseudo-glare.

Scott smirks at him before placing a gentle hand on Mitch’s back as they walk over to the seats, ever the concerned best friend, and quietly considering where the hell he can buy thigh-high red boots they can fucking keep.

**Thoughts?**


End file.
